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The Dark Lord was contemplating. There was a choice that had to be made and, for all intents and purposes, he had to choose wisely. His dilemma was simple; a prophecy had been made concerning him over two years ago. That, on its own merit, was not something he had considered completely unexpected. After all, he was intending to leave an everlasting mark in the history of the wizarding world and thus had expected that, somewhere along the way, a prophecy would be made.

So no, it wasn't the prophecy in itself that had him immersed in his thoughts. It was the content of said prophecy that had done so; the mere notion that he, Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of the century, would be defeated by a mere child. A child that was born as the seventh month died, a child of parents that had thrice defied him and lived to tell the tale. And, to his great discontent- and partially because of his long list of enemies- the candidates were three.

Born first, early on the thirty first of July a year and tree months ago, was Neville Longbottom, the son of Alice and Frank Longbottom, two of the most feared aurors that had ever attacked the Death Eaters' lines. The parents themselves had only recently defied him for the third and last time. Voldemort smirked at the memory; Bellatrix had been a little overzealous while extracting information from the couple and thus, the two found themselves locked up in the psychiatric ward of St. Mungo's hospital, suffering from the aftereffects of a lasting torture under the Cruciatus. That dealt with one nuisance and also left their son unprotected, under the care of a grandmother. The Dark Lord knew for a fact that finding and killing the boy would be a matter of routine for him. But was the Longbottom heir the child he had been warned about?

Born second was Adrian Orion Potter, son of Lilly and James Potter and older of a pair of twins. He was born a few minutes before midnight on the last day of July and, along with his younger brother, he was a better candidate to the prophecy, considering he was born closer to the end, ergo the death, of July. The third candidate was the youngest Potter heir, a boy that was born only seconds before the clock pointed midnight as his informant and close family friend Peter Pettigrew had supplied. The twins were born much closer to the timeframe the prophecy had suggested and besides, they were halfbloods. And as much as he would like to forget it, the Dark Lord was a halfblood himself.

It had to be one of the two. And it was in such thoughts that Lord Vodemort found himself standing outside the theoretically protected house of the Potter family at Godric's Hollow. And what a fitting name that was for the place the Potters lived, the Dark Lord thought acidly. The parents themselves were gone from the house, courtesy of Pettigrew, who had opted to baby-sit the children while they were gone. The only other two that could pose a threat to his plans, Peter had assured him, were detained by the moon herself. Werewolves and full moons don't mix after all and neither do werewolf friendly animagi.

Voldemort walked steadily through the strong protective spells and rituals that covered the house as if they weren't even there, their protection demolished under the weight of treason. He was welcomed at the front door by Pettigrew. He made a mental note to kill the cowering rat sometime in the immediate future. He detested traitors and the plump man would soon fulfill his purpose thus rendered less than worthless to him. Maybe he could let Bella have some fun. She detested rodents.

"They are on the second floor my Lord." The rat said bowing. Voldemort's lips twisted in a sneer. "In the nursery." Passing Pettigrew by without showing any indication of hearing him, the Dark Lord strode to the stairs, his black cape bellowing behind him. What a nuisance prophecies were! But this one had the possibility of becoming a force to be reckoned with in the future and thus had to be prevented now that there was still time. The door to the nursery was wide open, yet another courtesy of Wormtail. Voldemort walked in and stood facing the two cribs. There lay two babies, both sporting thick black hair. Not that it really mattered, since he would kill them both just to be sure, but Voldemort wondered which was which. That was easy to define, he thought. With a light movement of his wand, both children found themselves under a strong silencing spell. He had hated crying, absolutely detested wailing babies while he was at the orphanage; he would have none of it now. With another stabbing movement of his wand the boys were both suspended mid air facing him and shaken out of their sleep.

Two pairs of eyes opened at almost the same time. The first baby, the one on the left, had hazel eyes, just like his father and was crying loudly under the silencing charm. Vodemort, who had never bothered to ask anything more about the two boys but their names and the hour of their birth, guessed that one had to be Harry James, finding it natural for the child who resembled his father the most to bear his name. Because the second boy, slightly paler but with the same unruly black hair, had eyes of the brightest green, shining like gems, the very colour of the curse by which he was about to die. That had to be Adrian, Voldemort deduced.

And he didn't appear to be frightened by his presence, only alarmed as he stared at him with wide eyes. Strangely, if his eyes weren't green they would look much like… but Voldemort abandoned that trail of thought, finding it useless. The boy was about to die anyway. Because now that he had laid eyes on the twins, there was no doubt in his mind that, if one of the two was to defeat him, that one would be the boy staring back at him defiantly in his young age; the Potter with the Avada Kedavra eyes.

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